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> The Roots of Svelkreen, Shards of a Broken Empire
Uleni Athram
post Sep 28 2011, 02:33 PM
Post #1


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The Posting Order


Ahrenil -> Jack Cloudy -> Uleni Athram -> Saqin -> Grif11 -> Dantrag -> Lord Revan -> TheTrueCaboose







Licensed fools and madmen, tumbling maniacs and demented entertainers. They danced to invinsible flutes, sang without words. Their noise of celebration echoed in the barren halls of the Royal Palace of Cyrodiil, where the political tension is thick and the Emperor innerly ravaged with some unknown turmoil. The Elder Council, in a rare display of affection towards their ruler, hired this troupe to thin the miasmatic fog that gripped the Palace from out of nowhere.

Of course, they might've also hired this troupe to simply hide the fact that the Mulberry Smiler, an assassin with some reknown, was among them.

The Mulberry Smiler, aptly named because of his/her blue-red-green costume, splitted away from the main group. He/She brandished a box from his/her inventories, a box with intricate carvings of birds and dragons. He/She held it to the air with reverence, held it in the air so the feasting nobles may see it.

The rest of the troupe all lined up in two lines beside the Emperor, making way as the Smiler now took steps towards Martin, who looked on with amusement. That amusement grew with curiousity as the Smiler kneeled before him, head bowed, box held out for the Emperor to take. He indulged in the act and took the box. The troup began to jitter and chatter wildly and excitedly. The Smiler made an eager motion and the young Emperor opened the box.

Its contents was a silky paper with the words 'I accept' written by a fluent hand. A smile lit up the Emperor's features as the Smiler now danced with abandon, the rest of the troupe doing the same.


And then the door opened, mercenaries and hired thugs entering.

This post has been edited by Uleni Athram: Oct 7 2011, 09:04 AM


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jack cloudy
post Sep 28 2011, 03:38 PM
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From: In a cold place.



Semir Grey

Semir walked calmly but with apparent purpose along the crowd that milled about in Daggerfall’s new merchant-district, mostly still unfinished. If he had cared to look to the west, he would still be able to see the ruins of the old district, destroyed like most of Daggerfall by the infernal Daedra. Semir cared not however. He had more pressing matters on his mind. Such as the man who had been following him since he’d left his house. He could be wrong of course, the street he walked on was a busy one, and Semir’s destination not unusual, not today. The king had an announcement to make to all citizens that cared to attend his address at the palace. Semir was one of many who planned to hear it. But still it nagged. The man or woman who followed him was always at the same distance from him. He sped up, so did his follower. He was forced to stop by a wagon blocking the road, and his pursuer found a sudden interest in the scent of freshly baked bread coming from the stall next to him.

The Breton cast a casual look at the window of Maurit’s General Sundries. The wares displayed behind the glass were not what drew his attention however, it was the scene of the road outside reflected in it that held his eye. There in the reflection, the person in the blue robe, face hidden by its hood. Still where he’d expected him or her to be. Still following.
“Alright. Time to make certain.” Semir thought to himself. His gaze swept up to the clock on the nearest belltower and, as if shocked by the revelation of the time, he quickened his steps and left the street. To any onlooker, he appeared as someone who had suddenly realized he was about to be late for an appointment, and had chosen to take a shortcut through the ruins of the old district.

There were no people on the street he now wandered. Likewise, there were no reflective windows or other opportunities to throw a quick unnoticed look at his follower. Semir kept his eyes on the road, taking a left here, a right there. It was a simple route, one that went well with his deception of being late for something. And more importantly, there was one particular ruin on his path he remembered to be a perfect ambush-site. There, less than three steps from his last turn, the ruins of an outhouse. Its rubble of wood painted blueish went almost perfectly with his own cloak. Semir ducked among it and hid. At this point, he had not yet decided whether he should speak to his pursuer, or go straight for the beatdown-interrogation combination. As the person in the blue robe passed, giving the outhouse only the most cursory of inspections, Semir remained hidden. The stranger stopped however, and a curse escaped his lips. His, for the voice was unmistakably that of a man.

“Where did he go? He couldn’t have left my sight, he couldn’t.” The man swore. Magicka gathered around him and now it was Semir’s time to bite back a curse. He rose from the ruins and went in low, kicking the man’s feet from the ground and locking both arms behind his back.
“Ok, no need to cast that detection spell my friend. Now would you care to explain who you are and why you’re following me? No obligation of course, unless you value your fingers.” Semir whispered in the stranger’s ears.
“compassion, compassion! I’m supposed to give you a message man, that’s all! Lucard’s the name!” The man shouted, clearly panicking. Semir increased the pressure on Lucard’s left pinky, not breaking it yet but getting close.

“Keep your voice down, Lucard! If that is your real name. If you were a messenger, then why didn’t you approach me? Why the whole shadowing-act?” Semir relaxed the pressure a bit. His threat had been made.
“I was supposed to make sure it really was you before handing it over. It’s one of those letters marked as private! You know, like the ones the girl writes to her lover who went off to fight in the war. Got lots of them these days.”

Semir sighed. A courier playing spy. Or a spy pretending to be a courier playing spy. Regardless of what was the truth. Semir did spot an envelope sticking from the man’s belt. He swiped it and opened it with one hand, still holding Lucard down with the other. Just reading the first paragraph was enough. The letter was for him alright. And hidden among the random sentimental crap of an old flame were his new orders.
“For god’s sake man. Just ask me for my name then! Don’t go following me as if you’re a thug hired by Orlando to beat up his business-rivals!”

Semir let go of the man who got up slowly while rubbing his joints.
“Sorry. So, are you Semir Grey?” Lucard asked.
“No.” Semir called over his shoulder as he walked off in the direction of the palace. The envelope was back behind the courier’s belt, but the letter it contained was now one of Semir’s own. That one was filled with real random sentimental crap. The one with the orders had safely vanished in a secret pocket.

The orders were unlike any he’d received earlier. They had led him from Daggerfall all the way to the Imperial City, where he was to receive further instructions. So now Semir sat among the nobles in the Royal Palace, making small talk as if one of them. And as far as the noble men and women around him knew, he was. They did not know him as Semir Grey and he wouldn't want them to. To them he was Simon Perdien, the lord of a small duchy in the southwestern corner of High Rock. Now he watched the dance carefully and when one jester approached the Emperor with a box, Semir feared he was about to witness an assassination. He was too far away to intervene though, and it wasn’t his job to do so anyway. Whatever the box contained, it was no poison or other implement of death. Whatever it was, it was something that pleased the Emperor Semir had never seen before. Then the doors swung open and a motley collection of hired swords entered. Semir asked a servant to refill his plate. This was going to be an interesting night.


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saqin
post Sep 29 2011, 04:45 PM
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From: Stockholm, Sweden



Nihri

The thunder rolled across the sky when she got into the house, safe then from the cold of the rain. She had just taken of her boots and was about to put away her weapon when she saw that an envelope sat on the mantelpiece, a simple red wax holding it closed. The female khajiit looked around the room and entered it quietly, one hand on the short sword by her side. The only sounds that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and the noise of the rain against the roof and windows. After a while she relaxed and walked across the room to pick up the letter.

After looking around briefly she sat down at the small table and ripped the letter open with shacking hands. Worry was evident in her eyes and the way she held her ears when she unfolded it. Just as she'd expected it was written in the code the Blades had used during her time as one of them, and skimming through it Nihri furrowed her brow.

It was not simply orders or information, it was an offer to hire her. An offer of ignorance. She crumpled the papers together and put them on the fire before walking up to a dust covered chest in the corner. It held her armor and sword, and she breathed in deeply before picking them up.

It was so it came about that days later she stood with other mercenaries in one of the halls of the Imperial Palace, waiting to be let in through the doors to see the emperor. Thoughts tumbled through her head as she tried to make sense of the reason of her being there. Though she'd rather be back at the shack, Nihri felt this was something that had to be done, and she couldn't back down now. Just as she finished that line of thought, the doors opened to let them in, and Nihri fell into step with the others.

Deesei

The common room of the Merchants inn was quiet during the day as most of its inhabitants went about their business. The only people present were a couple of people eating and an argonian female reading a book. She wore a green robe and a quiver of arrows hung on her back though there was no bow in sight.

Not much time had passed when a courier stepped through the door.

“I bring a message for the witch hunter Deesei,” he said, after which the Argonian looked up.

“Yes?” she asked, and the courier walked up to her and handed her a small envelope. Then he stepped back a bit for her to open it. The letter had the usual layout of a job offer except for one small thing, it came from the Emperor.

Deesei looked up at the courier and smiled. “I understand, thank you,” she said and the courier left. She only put her book away before heading out on the street towards the Imperial Palace.

And there she stood a couple of hours later, waiting to be let in together with a quite odd collection of mercenaries. The palace guards had gone through how they were supposed to behave, and she was going through it in her head when the doors finally opened.


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I no longer use this acoount since I can't do anything with it. New username: Saquira
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grif11
post Sep 29 2011, 06:02 PM
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Taedril

"Ah, Taedril returns to Valenwood eh?" the Border guard said cheerily to the dark elf. He had met the elf many times, passing to and from Valenwood. "Yes. The Khajiit are destroying the place, and it's about time I get some vengeance on them."

Just as Taedril was about to pass into the Bosmer homeland, A female Imperial, atop a black steed halted in front of him. Taedril quickly drew his long sword, before the woman quickly said "Wait! I have a message for you!" Taedril was offered a letter, the imperial seal clearly visible on it. Taking the letter, long sword still in hand, he replied to her "go now, you've done your job."

Putting away his long sword, he broke the seal and read the note. "Well? What does it say?" the wide-eyed guard eagerly said. "Well my friend, I'm going to have to cancel my trip. The Emperor has asked for me."

Only about two hours later, Taedril was standing inside the Imperial palace, where a jester seemed to be entertaining Martin. "Hmm, I'm sure I've seen that jester before," he muttered to a nearby breton. Before he could say anything more, the doors opened and a mix of characters walked in. Archers, mages, axemen, soldiers and rouges, all different races.


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~Salutes~ I am dave! Yognaught.

Unshelled Bullets - A weary sniper tells his story of law and sacrifice.
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Ahrenil
post Sep 29 2011, 06:56 PM
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Joined: 23-February 09
From: Hertford



Blaiddalen

"Someone was lookin' for yah Wilder" the innkeeper grunted as Blaiddalen strode into the room. He stood a good head above most of the other occupants, and many refused to meet his eyes, though his woad markings drew attention from many. "I told him ya were out, an' he left to find ya. Said 'e was one of them Fighter's Guild couriers, guess they wan' yer help, or yer head"

Blaiddalen grinned at the prospect, the fighters guild only ever looked for him when they had a big fight lined up, and even a bounty hunter would be a decent fight. Either way, it had been 3 days since Blaiddalen had battled a decent challenger, the meagre bandits and highwayman in the area had long since gone to ground or now hung from trees in the deep woods. The wolves were learning the looks of them now, and learning that there was decent eating on one.

"Direction?" the wild man asked, his cyrodilic thick and alien to his tongue.
"He headed into the woods abou' eastwards" the innkeeper replied, gesturing towards the deep woods. "I warned him that the weather was gonna turn but he went anyway".
Blaiddalen simply nodded and strode back out the door, pausing only to grab his spear and bow.

The woods thundered with the sound of rain on the canopy, heavy droplets plummeting to the forest floor to soak the carpet of pine needles. The deep woods were rarely travelled, by men or beast. They were a dangerous place now, since the Oblivion crisis clanfears and other beasts had settled into the deeper stretches where Knights couldn't ride their horses and clear them out.

Here and there a broken twig, a misplaced stone, and the sulphurous smell of fire magicks lead Blaidallen deeper, despite the weather slicking his hair and blurring his vision his strides were steady and purposeful, quitened by the sodden forest floor and the pounding of rain.Before long the wind brought him the cries of battle and the ring of steel, and Blaiddalen's pace increased accordingly.

Before him the forest opened into a clearing. The floor was littered with bones of both men and animals, and more recently with the corpses of several Clanfears. In the center of the clearing a lone man stood in battle with a giant grey skinned deadra. The beast hend a claymore in each hand, and sneered in contempt at it's oponent.

Slamming his spear into the ground Blaiddalen drew his bow, knocked a broadheaded arrow and sent it whistling at the Xivilai, a second arrow flying before the first had even struck. Snatching up his spear Blaiddalen howled in anticipation as he pelted forwards, pine needles kicking up in wake. With a cry of fury the Xivilai spun, taking the first arrow in the side before batting the second away with a claymore. Blaiddalen launched himself forwards, twisting away from the beast's massive swings and dancing forward and back to skewer it with his spear. At the same time the other man struck, a gleaming katana shedding sheets of water and blood with each lightning fast swing into the beast's side and arms.

Within a minute the Xivilai was down, blood soaking into the floor as the spirit left it's eyes and fled back to Oblivion. Both men were left, out of breath and bloodied but largely unharmed. Blaiddalen looked the stranger over, the battle worn face was a mask of neutrality, even during the fight it had remained even and composed. He wore simple armor, leather sewn with metal discs, but it was of high quality and well kept. Even more so was his blade, the katana glimmered with the faint glow of magick, and the twisting designs on the guard and pommel spoke of more than a hired sword.

"Not fighters guild?" Blaiddalen inquired, leaning heavily on his blood streaked spear.
"No" replied the Blade, drawing an envelope from his pocket. "We have an offer for you."
Blaidallen regarded the letter carefully, his face balling in concentration, before handing it back to the man. "I do not know most of these words" he said, his tone mixed equal parts sheepishness and pride. "I speak, old tongue, but I accept, I go to hear what your Clanfather has to say."

Now the Wildling stood in the middle of a group of others, feeling naked without his spear and arrows. The Palace guards regarded him coldly, his woad markings and scars drawing their eyes as did his steely expression. The door before him opened, and he followed the others into a large central throne room, and stared at the man who ruled over a broken empire, smiling.

Urzul

Urzul's hands rested on the bar of the "Patriach" tavern, infront of her sat a sealed enevelope marked with the seal of the Imperial Legion. Without even opening it she picked it up and set it to the candle, the paper curling and smoking as the fire took. She turned to the Legionaire beside her and shook her head sadly.
"I am sorry friend, but I did my time. I won't go back out there and help you subdue the provinces once more. I'm done with the legion" she said sadly, resting a hand on the officer's shoulder plate.
"But without you think of how many men will die from their wounds." the Officer insited
"And if I am there they'll get back up and go out and get themselves poked full of holes again, and so will the other side. I won't help the Emperor cut and burn himself out another empire. Now please, leave."

The Soldier sighed, picking up his helmet he slid it back on and strode back out of the tavern with a clatter of metal. Urzul shook her head sadly, not a month went by now without someone trying to re-recruit her. With the collapse of the empire the mages guild had also gone to pot in many provinces. Rulers didn't like the idea of their mages answering to an Imperial institution and so a multitude of new schools had opened, and suddenly the legion didn't have a monopoly on all the healers they wanted.

Still, Orsinium gave her work enough to keep her occupied. It was a hard place to live, and the city reflected that. She resented whoever decided to make the bloody thing out of iron, a day didn't go by without some poor soul opening a limb on an edge that wasn't properly blunted, and then it was her job to sew them up again.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she heard the tavern door open again and the creak of metal and leather filtered into her forethoughts. With a grunt of annoyance she turned to berate whicever new Legionaire had come to waste her time before her breath caught in her throat. The man who walked through the door wasn't a legionaire, he wore simple clothes and carried no weapons beyond a tall black staff capped with orcish steel at both ends. His face split into a grin when his eyes found Urzul's, the orc rose from her seat and embraced the man with a happy chuckle.

"You've gotten fat Cearcil" she told her old friend and mentor once they'd broken apart. "You know thats not good at your age"
"Someones got to eat all of those sweetrolls, what else would novices have to complain about?" he replied with a grin. "Anyway, what kind of a greeting is that? If I remember correctly I still outrank you"
"Not since I left and you know it" Urzul replied with a grin, poking the old Imperial in the belly. "And you know what I won't be coming back, I doubt you've trecked have of Tamriel just to say hello."
Cearcil smiled sheepishly "Caught in the act, though I did jump at the chance to see you again" he admitted "But lets not talk business yet, i've got a day here, and thats a day i'd rather not spend couped up indoors. You always did blather on about Orsinium, time for you to show me the sights and drink me under the table in the bars"
Urzul grinned, her eyes lighting up. "You're on old man, time to teach you a few proper drinking games."

As night fell and Urzul dragged the semi-concious Cearcil back to his inn she couldn't help but reflect on the days she spent back in the Legion. None of them compared to days like this she decided. The poor Imperial had come to try and win her back with friendship, but instead he had just shown her how good her life was now that she was a free woman again. But he'd understand why she couldn't return, and it had been good to catch up. As she dropped him infront of his room his eyes flickered open once more.
"How, in the name of Akatosh, can you hold so much rum woman?" he groaned, fumbling for a key in his trouser pockets. "Ah, oh yeah, I was meant to give you this as well..." he muttered, handing her a sealed letter.
"You know thats useless Cearcil" she muttered, helping him through the door and easing him down infront of the bucket at the corner. "You never could hold your drink, and i'm not sticking around to watch you vomit yourself out of a hangover, good night, and come find me tomorrow before you leave."
"Will do" Cearcil groaned, leaning forward over his buket with telltale urgency, Urzul left at speed.

Back in her own house she considered the letter infront of her. She wasn't going to accept their terms, no amount of promotions or titles could win her back, but she did owe it to her friend to at least read the damn thing. As she broke the seal and opened the envelope her breath caught in her throat. Inside was a second envelope, unsealed, but every soldier knew the symbol of the dragon carefully drawn on the front.

As the sun dawned and a worse for ware Imperial knocked on her door Urzul pondered on what was about to happen. This wasn't a normal summons, and the terms offered were more than she could have hoped for. As far as all her friends and family would know she had rejoined the Legion, as far as Cearcil knew she had been posted outside of the Imperial city, to reinforce another barracks, and the official paper work would back it up. It had been years since she had worn her armor, but it fit her just as well as it had fit her back when she was a younger woman, and years of hard climbs and travelling had kept her fit enough to take on such a task.

She now stood at the side of the throne room, hiding in plain sight behind noble lords and glamoured ladies. Hidden even among her new friends in the palace guard. She had been trained, hired, and lived as one for the past month to give herself the proper illusion of being a guard, and to maintain she wouldn't be noticed by all except those who needed to know who she was. As the adventurer's entered, and the assembled lords and ladies leant forward to try see what was happening, she spotted the casual interest of Breton and a Bosmer. Blades Urzul though to herself, too well trained at looking innocent.

This post has been edited by Ahrenil: Sep 29 2011, 07:30 PM
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Dantrag
post Sep 29 2011, 07:32 PM
Post #6


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From: The cellar of the fortress of the fuzz



Alora

Alora stood with many others as they waited for the palace doors to open. The rooms in the palace were large enough to keep her from feeling claustrophobic, but something about the sterile stone made her feel uncomfortable, and the fact that the guards had made her leave Horos outside didn't help.

This was not what she had expected when she made the long trek north to Cyrodiil from her home woods. When she first arrived in this country, Alora had spent some time ridding a nobleman's land of dangerous beasts; mountain lions, wolves, bears, and the like. Apparently she did her job so skillfully that the Emperor heard of her talents. She went from refugee to honored guest with a simple piece of parchment.

At first, when she had received the letter, Alora thought that it had been for her alone. Now, standing in the palace, she knew the truth of it. The Emperor needed as many hands as he could while his domain tore itself apart at the seams. She honestly did not want to work for the Empire at all, but if it was the only way to end the many wars scattered all across Tamriel, then so be it. She just hoped she could put arrows through a few Khajiit heads before it was all over.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the doors swung open and all the sellswords filtered in. She positioned herself in the back, so that she would be dwarfed by all of the other, larger, races, and the attention would be away from her. The young bosmer hunter felt shy in this environment. All around the palace sat nobles in fine silks, eating fine foods off of fine silver. There was music and a jester. All of this together made her look at herself and realize that she didn't fit in here. When the doors opened, she fell in step beside a tall breton, scarred from many battles. Though he was not her kind, his clothes suggested that he was more comfortable outdoors. She kept pace with him, thinking that perhaps she had found a kindred spirit in this crazy city.


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"Its when murder is justice that martyrs are made"
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jack cloudy
post Sep 30 2011, 11:26 AM
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From: In a cold place.



Semir Grey

"Hmm, I'm sure I've seen that jester before," The words came from the Dunmer seated beside him. Semir did not know the man, but it was obvious to him that just like himself, the Dunmer was not one of the nobles. Then there were the man's blue eyes, an odd feature for a Dunmer which suggested mixed blood somewhere in his ancestry. Semir had not pushed the issue however. It was both irrelevant and one never knew if it wouldn't be taken as an insult.

Semir looked at the jester the Dunmer had indicated. He had secretly inspected him before, as he had done with just about everyone he could see from his current position. He did not see anything in the man's features, costume or behaviour that facilitated recognition. Or for that matter, if he was looking at a man at all. But there was indeed something peculiar with the jester, something which took him a while to notice. The peculiar thing was not the jester himself, but rather the behaviour of the rest of the troupe. They all seemed to look at the jester far more often than usual. This could simply imply that this jester was the leader of the troupe and the rest followed him in the dance. In fact, that was almost certainly the case here. However, no matter how broken the Empire was right now, any entertainment provided to the Emperor and his court would be the best of the best. Any troupe hired for this event would therefore have rehearsed to the point they could dance blindfolded.

So yes, there was something about that jester. He or she was not part of the original troupe, a recent addition.
"Looks just like any other jester I've seen. But what about that rabble that's tumbling in through the doors? WHat are they doing here? Is something going on I don't know about?" He replied after a second of continued examination.
"Lord Perdien, please allow me to refill your plate." A servant called behind him. Semir nodded and watched how a new portion of meat, fish and vegetables were deposited before him. His eyes were not kept on the food however, but on the hands of the server. The slightest jitter or hesitation might indicate undue attention from the man, or poison.


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Fabulous hairneedle attack! I'm gonna be bald before I hit twenty.
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Uleni Athram
post Oct 1 2011, 02:36 PM
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From: From: From: From






The mercenaries filed in, their gears marking them aliens in contrast to the nobles' clothing, and silence befell the austere Grand Hall. The blue-bloods and the politicians looked at the hired swords with confusion, contempt and disgust. Some, showing their bravery, openly discussed their opinions within an earshot of the mercenaries. In return, they had murderous stares. The surmounting tension was thick in the air. Clearly, this was unexpected. The Elder Council silently stared at the Emperor, who now wore an expressionless face as he took in the sight of the mercenaries he hired. Each and everyone of them was of some reknown. The task he would heave upon their shoulders would rely on their skills. And they must succeed. They simply must. With a sigh that spoke of an old age, Martin Septim stood from his throne. Speeches never really agreed with his quiet, scholarly voice.

"Ah," he said, his voice as sharp as an arrow penetrating a fog. "So you have finally arrived. On behalf of the Empire, I welcome you all. No doubt your travels that lead you here has sunk its fangs on your body; please, sit and feast. As you are all now to my employ, I would not have you all be worn out." He gestured to the clothed tables laden with fruits, meats and other gastronomical delights. Servants and helpers went to and fro, busy as ants as their duty now increased tenfold at the Emperor's words. But as he was just about to sit down and let the sellswords have their repast, a golden-masked figure clad in chainmail and hefting a humongous axe on his shoulder pushed through the throngs of mercenaries ( eliciting some forms of insults and glares), emerging in front of the Emperor's throne. The Blades hidden among the nobles suddenly had a newfound interest in this particular person and watched his every move, ready to strike him down if he had any sinister intentions.

The Emperor looked at him with wary interest, just as he would with a brightly colored snake.


"My lord," the masked-man said aloud, loud enough to silence the whole room, his Breton voice filtering mechanically and giving it a slight echo. It also held a significant amount of confidence, one might say arrogance. "I did not come from High Rock to this Empire just so I would stalled by your promise of dirtcakes and dogpiss." At this, some nobles cried out in dismay at this brute's manners. Some yelled for him to beg for forgiveness. Whether he gave it his attention, his mask hid it all.

The Emperor meanwhile, was taken aback from such a rash response. A split-second later, he gathered himself. No use showing weakness in a pit of cobras. With eyebrows raised, he said,

"What is your name, Breton?"

"Celdryn Mon'Cheri, formerly of the Daggerfall knights and was once a personal guard to an old Lord, Emperor. And I request an explanation of why I have been summoned." This one's white-hot opinion, openly showed by his mocking words, on authority was beginning to frazzle Martin's nerve. He could have his Blades execute him on the spot. He could have him dragged off to the Imperial Dungeons and have him taste unendurable pain. But he would not. Politics would view that action only from a weak leader that takes offence from mere words. And a weak leader is not worthy and needed in times like these.

"Then Celdryn of Daggerfall, a knight of your standing should understand that the matters of which you have been called upon to do is not meant for," here he gestured at the nobles, "their ears and their hearts?" He did not say that there are probably spies among them, too. But a Breton has an invinsible sensor to matters such as that. Celdryn the Golden Masked should have that, if he truly was a knight that served a 'Lord'.

He did. And after a moment of silence, bowed his encased head slightly, in penance and begrudging submission. He fell back, like a retreating snake and disappeared into the crowd. The hidden Blades eased themselves and went back to their cover of socializing. Making sure that there would no more interruptions, Emperor Martin Septim eased down and sat. He watched at this gathering. And then he made a motion from his hands. From the shadows, an Imperial with royal features bedecked in ebony armor emerged and stood vigilantly at Martin's side. The Emperor beckoned him, the Champion leaned in and Martin whispered. What words passed between not even the most hawkish of ears can grab, but it was very important for the Champion to have such a serious expression.

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The Smiler ignored the clamour this brazen Celdryn made. His/Her sharp eyes, magnified with the magick in his/her mask, detected a silvery bulk hiding in the shadows and he/she was instantly suspicious. That is until it was revealed to be the Champion himself, inside his Imperial Dragon Armor. The Smiler watched with hidden curiousity as the two legends conversed, and while the Smiler's sharpened hearing did not catch a trace of any words said, he/she determined that it was a serious matter. He/She stored that thought away from later use and continued his/her earlier juggling of balls of jelly infront of a group of nobles. An oddity was among them. An ashen skinned elf with blue eyes. Halfblood, perhaps. The music, the laughter, the conversation all turned into a buzzing cacophony of feasting. As usual.


Until the Smiler felt eyes descending on him/her. The juggling finished with each of the jelly balls landing on top of the watching nobles' heads, particulary on a muscled Redguard-looking Breton dressed in fine robes and jewelry. Even the Halfblood's face was lightly stained. The Smiler's lean shoulders shook with silent laughter, and some of the blue-bloods nearby openly laughed. With a final, mocking bow the Smiler disengaged from the group (ignoring some of the curses thrown his/her way) and made for the tables with bowls of fine wine. Just as he/she was about to reach for a glass, a firm hand clasped his/her shoulder. The Smiler then felt something infiltrating one of his/her costume's many pockets and just like that, the presence disappeared in the clanking of boots. The Smiler fished the object out and came up with another envelope, similar to the one he/she received in Valenwood from a Blade.

Its contents revealed a scratchy paper with the directions to a nearby room and the orders to go there. It was signed by the fluent hand of Martin Septim himself. Curious, the Smiler searched for the Champion and saw him do the same to numerous other people.

A wild-looking Breton, a Khajiit, an Orc, the Halfblood and the Noble, an Argonian and a Bosmer.

This was beginning to stir up quite a lot of confusion on the Smiler's mind. The only thing that would clear this up and make sense was to follow the directions on the paper. Like a trooper, the Smiler marched with purposeful strides to aforemention roomed and entered the oaken portal. The room was spartan with little decorations and lots of room and pragmatic furniture, the sort one would get by entering a Legate's office. Which it was. Two occupants were already here: a bear of a man in the silver armor of an Imperial Legatus and the other the-

"The false simulacra will not last forever," Martin said, sitting and resting his elbows on the mahogany desk in front of him. "And so I shall have to make this quick."

The Smiler simply stared motionless. The Legatus guffawed at his/her reaction, and it was a guffaw that could only come from the gravelly earth. That guffaw stopped when the three heard many footsteps approaching. Martin gave a tight smile to the Smiler.

"They are here, then. The rest of the company is here."




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I wanna slap people and tell them I love them
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grif11
post Oct 2 2011, 05:08 PM
Post #9


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From: Merry Old England



Taedril Uvalen

Taedril decided to listen to the Breton Nobleman beside him and forget about his suspicions. It was probably just the mask. As the jester moved over to him and others, he began to juggle some balls of jelly. Taedril watched him, and as the balls landed on the nobles around, some splashed the side of his face. "Ah, a clever trick," he smirked to the jester, who was now miming laughter.

As the jester moved on, Taedril turned to the feast before them. Food that even Barons would find expensive filled silver platters and Wines that were known to be used on only special occasions in the palace were poured into jewel encrusted goblets. Mmm, I suppose I could have a few slices of venison, he thought to himself, but before he took a single step towards the dining table, the champion of Cyrodiil approached him and stuck two identicle letters into both his and the Breton's hands.

Taedril opened the note, where he was instructed to come to a private room. "You got the same note?" He asked the Breton, who still had Jelly running down his head.


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~Salutes~ I am dave! Yognaught.

Unshelled Bullets - A weary sniper tells his story of law and sacrifice.
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saqin
post Oct 2 2011, 05:21 PM
Post #10


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Joined: 22-September 09
From: Stockholm, Sweden



Nihri

Nihri felt the eyes on her like stings when she walked into the hall, and the few guards she recognized gave her cold stares when her gaze met theirs. It was evident at once that the people in the hall had not expected to see the mercenaries, and many nobles showed their discontent.

The emperors invitation to eat calmed the hall somewhat, before the knight spoke up. She was surprised that anyone would dare speak so bluntly to the Emperor, but then the knight seemed as if though he knew how to take care of himself. The knight soon submitted himself to the emperor though, and Nihris' attention was caught by the nobles whose great interest in the man had suddenly vanished. Blades, she thought, the Emperor is always surrounded by his guards.

The female khajiit steered her steps towards one of the tables, but she hadn't even taken a platter when she felt someone touch her shoulder and put something in her hand. The “something” was another message, and Nihri erself headed for another room with an odd group of mercenaries.

Upon entering, her eyes fell upon the emperor, whom she'd seen only moments before in the hall. But apart from the Legate and the Emperor, the jester was also present. Nihri stepped aside to let the others in as she contemplated the fact.

Deesei

Deesei couldn't take her eyes of the well dressed nobles, and so couldn't miss their comments. She quickly forgot every ounce of etiquette she'd ever learned. She narrowed her eyes at one of the nobles, and was just about to say something when the emperor stood up. She listened silently until the knight Celdryn made his exit, at which her attention was drawn to the jester, and she laughed heartily when he threw the jelly at the nobles around him.

Still with a smile on her lips, Deesei walked to get some food, but hadn't gotten far when the champion of Cyrodiil walked past, putting a missive I her hand without a word. She watched him walk off before she opened the message, and then went to the side room that was mentioned. Once there she was shocked to see the emperor, and quickly bowed before placing herself next to the mercenaries.


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I no longer use this acoount since I can't do anything with it. New username: Saquira
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jack cloudy
post Oct 2 2011, 07:36 PM
Post #11


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From: In a cold place.



Semir Grey

Semir's attention was openly fixed on the new arrivals, something he thought he could afford since everyone else was doing the exact same thing. There were no familiar faces, though he could tell from the way the mercenaries held themselves that they were at the top of their bussiness. That, or overly confident. He settled for the former conclusion. While according to his sources, the Emperor was known to crack a joke from time to time, crashing the event with a gang of amateurs would be in decidedly bad taste.

His conclusion was further reinforced when one of the mercenaries pulled away from the main group and boldly strode for the Emperor's seat. Semir only needed one glance at that mask, even at this distance, to know who it was. Still, he kept his face impassively and let the knight slip from his gaze, pretending not to have noticed him.
"Celdryn Mon'Cheri. Damn, haven't seen him in years. My informants said he'd retired from the knightly order of Daggerfall. That didn't settle the rumours of him having been a private assassin, spy, king's illegitimate son, bound Daedra and whatnot." The Breton thought. Celdryn had never directly been involved in any of Semir's affairs. The knights high position however, had led to the standard investigation Semir conducted into anyone of even remote importance. Said investigate however, had been unusually lacking in success. All Semir could say with certainty was the Celdryn was as much a master of disguise as he was. The only exception being that Celdryn actually hid by becoming the center of attention while Semir blent in with those around him. That mask was what identified Celdryn, but no one seemed to know what hid beneath it.

Celdryn had reached the throne and loudly proclaimed his dissatisfaction. Semir could now afford to observe the ex-knight openly.
"Doesn't the lout know his place? That's our Emperor, Martin Septim he's talking to!" Semir swore under his breath. It seemed the thing Simon Perdien would say at this moment.
"If only those rumours were more. BUt no, just "I heard, they say" and more of that crap! I don't like it when a man never becomes more than a walking collection of rumours no matter how much I investigate."

His thought pattern was rudely interupted by the sensation of something wet, slimy and blue hitting his face.
"Gods! You filthy little rat! Gah, this vest is ruined!" Semir exclaimed, frantically waving his hands to wipe off as much of the jelly as he could. Around him, the unaffected nobles laughed. Not laughing, but still amused, the Dark Elf complimented the jester who had thrown the jellyballs. Semir noted to himself that it was the same jester that had gifted the box and wasn't part of the troupe.

More things happened. Celdryn backed off, the Champion of Cyrodiil arrived, or at least someone wearing armour credited to the hero, and said hero pressed an envelope in his hands. This last event annoyed the Blade to no end.
"So much for subtlety. What part of, "I prefer to observe this banquet undercover" did my superiors not understand?"


"You got the same note?" The Dunmer beside him asked as he opened an identical envelope. Semir paused from wiping the jelly, seemingly hesitating between opening the envelope and removing his slimy embarrasment. He settled for the envelope. The question was not one he wanted to answer. The Dunmer, and the other recipients of the note he could see, all appeared to be quite capable fighters. Simon Perdien was most certainly not.
"Hmm, you also in posession of a vineyard? Seems to be about mine. Says here that...They don't want my wine anymore?! Oh, unless I lower the price by..." A convenient blob of jelly dripped from his face on the paper, smearing out the ink into an unreadable mess.

He had no further need for the note. Even if he hadn't actively read it to its end yet, his eyes had taken in the entire paper and he was already reading on using the image in his mind. He needed to leave, someone desired his presence elsewhere. His, and most likely that of the blue-eyed Dunmer and the others he'd seen receiving an envelope. Suddenly the whole jelly running down his head turned out to be a blessing. It gave him a reason.
"Gah, please excuse me. I've got to step outside for a bit." He said, stepping away. Then, shaking his head he moved for the exit.
"Got to get a towel. How dare that jester insult me like that. And then the wine-export. This was supposed to be the day I make it big!" He muttered to himself for the ears of anyone who wanted to listen.
"Hmm, can't go to that meeting looking like a flabby buffoon. Not if it is what I think it is. Don't have any other suitable disguises ready either. No choice but to go as plain old Semir Grey then. Turns out I'm wrong, I'll just make up an excuse and leave."

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Oct 2 2011, 07:41 PM


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Fabulous hairneedle attack! I'm gonna be bald before I hit twenty.
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TheTrueCaboose
post Oct 6 2011, 06:51 PM
Post #12


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Joined: 30-September 11
From: Highlands of Scotland



Kelzar

Kelzar was wandering around the old Greybeard ruins of the Dragon Lords looking for his target. He had come close in the past few days but the target still tried to elude him. Kelzar knew that he was right on top of him now and that the target had nowhere to run. He then saw him and snuck up behind the target giving him a kick in the back of his leg making him fall over into the snow. After the target got over the initial shock he started laughing. Kelzar held his hand out to help him up as the man said "Well I should never make another bet with you not being able to follow my tracks again". The man gave Kelzar the 500 gold they had bet upon and they went their seperate ways lauging about it. In a nearby village he decided to go to his old friend Ferugar ran up to him with news that he was to go to the Imperial Palace at once and to attend a banquet. Ferugar had written the day and time that he was supposed to be there by. A few moments after Ferugar left he remembered he forgot to ask him how he had found out but it didn't matter anyway know he knew he had to get underway.

Three days and Kelzar was here as he walked into the banquet hall the gaurd at the door stopped him and said "Sir look you cant be carrying a weapon that sharp into the hall. Its just too dangerous as I've seen what those can do before." the gaurd started shuffling nervously as Kelzar towered over him just as if the gaurd was trying to stop him from entering. Kelzar in an annoyed voice said "I have a right to carry my weapon in there and don't try to stop me from carrying this in just because I'm a Nord or because I might accidentally cut someone with it. I wouldn't be carrying it if I didn't know how to use it expertly! Just stop stalling me because we both know thats a terrible excuse to not allow someone into the banquet hall" then Kelzar pushed passed the gaurd into the hall. He caught the gaurd say "Young arrogant sod thinking he can talk to me like that". Kelzar then smiled to himself thinking if only he knew how much older he was than him, while at the same time not being acustomed to being treated by with such stupidity.

The banquet hall was so packed with nobles and mercinaries that he was starting to sweat from the heat. He looked around suspiciously and everyone at the tables seemed to try to avoid his searching eyes. Then he spotted the guy he was looking for waving him over. The man seemed suprised that Kelzar knew that he was to recieve a letter from him and shuffled through the crowds of people squeezing his way slowly to Kelzar. The letter finally got to him. The man holding the letter said "I'm sorry I couldn't find you in the city, but how did you know to come here". Kelzar's expression didn't move an inch as he replied "Old Nord trick". The messenger shrugged and walked away in a fashion that suggested he more couldn't have been bothered to find me at Skyrim or was just too scared. Luckly Kelzar was told the Emperor was looking for him by a man called Ferugar an old friend of his. Kelzar then began to read the note. It said "Dear Friend it is a long time scince I saw you last. In the times before I even knew about any of this deadra magic or Oblivion. Its funny to think that you will look exactly the same as I remember you. I am however going to ask you a question and you must help me. I want you to join me to look for a very special artifact that is of secret significance. Join me in my banqueting hall and all will be explained". Kelzar put the note back in the letter and slid it into his back pocket. He walked to the table and went to sit down.

He was obviously one of the last ones as most people at the table took two seconds to look back to see who had just sat down. Martin seemed to be away at the moment. He sat next to a Dumner that appeared to be lost in his train of thought. As soon as Kelzar took his letter back out to re-read the letter the Redgaurd on the other side of him from the Dumner looked at him with quizical stare. He then asked "Thats funny your letter is different to mine and everybody elses here". Kelzar asked him "Did everyone get the same letters". The man repleid "Yes they did and yours is different". Kelzar knew why but then completely ignored the man. Then he tookk a second look at the jester suspiciously. Under Kelzars breath he muttered "Its Smiler how did the assassin get here. I've seen his handywork in the past as far it goes." He wasn't sure the Dumner beside him caught a word or two of that but the Dumner did not show it. Kelzar was soon aware of what an amature mistake muttering something important under your breath was but it couldn't be helped now. As soon as he had sat down he recieved a letter from the Champion of Cyrodill. Kelzar nodded to the Champion as he stode to give out more letters. This one appeared to be inviting him to a private room in which Martin resided. He took a quick look at the Dumner and told him "You may want to read what you've got there its important". Kelzar then left the table and headed into a room in which he saw Martin smiling as he entered.

The room was far less populated than the banquet hall which was quite refreshing. As he scanned the room he saw several people none of which he recognised. It was an awkward silence. But it did give time for Kelzar to reflect upon the evening. The only reason I can think of why Smiler is here is to serve Martin in the same task we are as he is in the same room. Smiler is a bit weird and the strange thing is that you can never tell if it is a man or woman and the assassin never speaks either. I must also tell Martin to fire that messenger he had sent to Skyrim to fetch me as he obviously hadn't done his job. Then being told by an old friend of his under vauge circumstances out of the blue like that. It was a complete disaster. Well at least he was here now. Just needed to wait for things to start.

This post has been edited by TheTrueCaboose: Oct 7 2011, 12:21 PM
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Dantrag
post Oct 8 2011, 07:46 AM
Post #13


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Joined: 13-February 05
From: The cellar of the fortress of the fuzz



OOC: sorry it took so long. I thought I was waiting on someone else to post. (it is my turn right?)

Alora

With the influx of hired muscle, the greeting room in which the Emperor sat was overcrowded. He invited them all to sit and feast, which she promptly did. Her small, wiry body wove through the crowd until she was sitting at a table beside some rough-looking Nords. She nodded to them in greeting before tearing into the boar meat before her.

She wasn't three bites in when someone bumped her chair. "Hey!" she spun around instinctively, but saw no one. With a shrug, she turned back to her meal. There was a note on her lap.

What is this? she mused, opening it under the table so as to not attract attention. It beckoned her away from the food, towards a side chamber. The note was vague, but promised to be worth her while, so with one huge bite of boar and a splash of water to wash it down, she slipped away from the table.

The crowded throne room suddenly made sense to Alora, once she entered the side chamber. It was a cover so that the Emperor could act in secret. Whatever he was going to ask them to do would likely be very sensitive, not to mention difficult. Inside there was the Jester, a khajiit, an argonian, and a nord. She sat silently among them, waiting to know more.


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"Its when murder is justice that martyrs are made"
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Lord Revan
post Oct 10 2011, 03:37 PM
Post #14


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Joined: 6-May 06
From: Texas, USA



Valero, Cyrodiil-Morrowind Border

"Work faster, Outlander!" Valero kept his head bowed over his patient, ignoring the Dunmer soldier hovering over him. Healing came naturally to the Imperial, but his shallow reserves of magicka prevented him from preforming the same tasks that more well endowed mages could on a regular basis. This young woman was his fifth patient today, the third day since he'd been pressganged into the Dunmer invasion of Black Marsh.

"This soldier would be on her feet if one of our healers were in charge." The observer continued to heckle. Your people enslaved me much like you've enslaved the Argonians you're fighting now. Valero did his best to banish his resentment for the Dunmer, anger did nothing to expedite his work. His patient had been hit by two arrows, not the type of wounds that one easily rebounded from. One below the knee, probably volley fire; the other embedded itself transversly in her abdominal cavity.

Valero finished repairing the elf's leg, his hands shaking with fatigue. Now comes the hard part... I need a nap after this.
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TheTrueCaboose
post Oct 12 2011, 02:26 AM
Post #15


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Joined: 30-September 11
From: Highlands of Scotland



Kelzar

In the deathly silent room certain thoughts kept passing Kelzar's mind. If The Smiler is needed for this job how dangerous could this be and I wonder if anyone else has any idea that that Jester we are all next to is one of the most deadly assassins in Cyrodill or Tamriel for that matter. Kelzar's thoughts were then interrupted as his head turned to a female Bosmer that had just walked in took up a seat next to them. Kelzar noticed that she too had done a quick scan of the room before sitting down as she obviously had the same suspicions. Grave silence then fell upon the room again. As was Kelzar's custom he decided to ask a question to the general group to see if they could break the ice and drop down the level of tension in the room. Undecided on what to say he just decided to go easy and proclaimed "Well this is interesting isn't it. I guess I'll introduce myself first. I'm Kelzar Ramoru of Skyrim pleased to meet you all".

Kelzar then relaxed slightly as he now felt less uncomfortable. He now waited staring intently at others in the group eyes shifting between each of them (apart from The Smiler), trying to push them introduce themselves in the same fashion and start conversation.

This post has been edited by TheTrueCaboose: Oct 12 2011, 02:28 AM
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Ahrenil
post Oct 13 2011, 01:18 AM
Post #16


Agent

Joined: 23-February 09
From: Hertford



((OOC:I Believe it is now my turn, so here goes))

Blaiddalen

The feast was not to Blaiddalen's liking, the nobles stood like children, whsipering their secrets and their lies to each other while planning and plotting for their own gain. They saw the collected mercenaries as an oddity, a folly perhaps. It was as if they didn't realise that every time they pay their gold, sign their forms, send men to do their bidding there was always the end of the chain who had to get up and do it. It made Blaiddalen sick with shame for his fellow man.

The food itself was alien as well, with strange delicacies from strange cultures amidst the true hearty fare of roasted meats. But even these seemed strange, spiced and salted until the meat's actual taste was almost all but gone. The Imperials cooked, it seemed, like they did everything else. Trying to hide their true nature through trinkets and baubles and losing themselves in the process.

Only a short time after the feast had begun Blaiddalen felt a letter press into his palm, opening it with a sigh he was delighted to find it written in the flowing script of his people, something that must not have been easy to find at all. After reading through it twice the Breton tore it up and dropped the pieces into a nearby candle, feigning distaste. A few short moments later he was gone from the meeting hall, a few choice phrases spoken often and loud ensured that the few nobles who had paid him any attention thought him gone of the city in disgust. In reality, he was now seated with the rest of the mercenaries, silent and keen eyed, waiting for the emeperor to speak. A nearby Nord spoke up and the Breton ignored him, when the Clanfather called for you it was not right to interrupt his business, and especially when such business was urgent enough to put forward this much effort.

Urzul

Urzul watched the feast with a mixture of disgust and fascination. Everywhere she could see Nobles bordering on the obese, walking disasters who ate better than any who were under them, and this feast was just the tip of the provebial iceberg. Even more nobles even now would be setting up similar banquets to try and imitate the emperor and curry favour, to try and jostle for position amongst themselves with sweet smiles and sweet meats.

The Champion was moving by now, and she noticed that several guests were drifting off, some obviously just leaving because they had too, but there was an air of uneasiness about some that just seemed off. When the Champion was done with his round amongst the guests he began to inspect the guards, noting on their uniform, joking with some, criticising others.

As he stopped before Urzul he mentioned how uncommon it was to see a woman guarding the Palace, how good it was to see an Orsimer standing to high in the chain of command, how he himself had worked for many other orcs and whether she knew of them or had some advice for making them less rough. By the end of the conversation she felt like she truly knew the sword of the Empire. It took her a minute to notice the letter stuffed under her chestplate, and another moment to realise she'd just essentially been groped by the right hand of the Emperor.

Picking her target wisely Urzul waited until a particularily chubby noble stumbled away from his table, staggering with the weight of drink and food. Stepping forward she caught the mans arm and began to steer him to the door, quietly muttering about holding his drink and the dangers of over eating. As she left him by the door to the Palace's public(ish) bathroom she continued on, winding through the warren of corridors until she stood before the Emperor once more, though in a much more private room. With a salute to the Legate and the Emperor she removed her helmet, trying not to catch the chinstrap on her tusks, and sat down with a loud metal clank on a seat near the door.
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jack cloudy
post Oct 13 2011, 10:02 AM
Post #17


Master
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Joined: 11-February 06
From: In a cold place.



Semir Grey

Semir managed to lose the usual servant in front of the nearest bathroom by requesting privacy and by implying that surely, the good man had something better to do? After all, what did Perdien need him for? After cleaning up he would go straight back to the banquet hall and it was impossible to become lost. Yet as soon as the servant rounded the corner and it had become obvious he wasn't shadowing him from a distance, Semir set off along an unused corridor.

Before entering the palace, Semir had already met up with another Blade in the city. Using the disguise of a laundry-cleaning bussiness, the woman had provided him with directions and had received a certain package from her Daggerfallian colleague. It was now that he would reap the results of their preparation. The mumbled advice led him to a section of the palace that had been heavily damaged in the Oblivion war and still hadn't been fixed. Notices hung on the walls, ropes sectioned off unstable walls and floors and most importantly, no one ever came here. No one except the workers, but they had been given the day off.

Semir's destination was another bathroom, one which was also cordoned off with a rope at waistheight and a large notice pinned to the door. The note said that the bathroom's ducts hadn't been cleaned out yet, the waterflow had been cut off and which way to go for the nearest functioning bathroom. Semir ducked under the rope and opened the door. The bathroom was indeed a mess, not to mention that a large gap in the wall gave him an unobstructed view of the city below. He kept his distance from the gap, one never knew if someone was watching. Semir locked the door behind him and got to work.

Using the clear water in the sink, left there by another operative in the palace, he washed out the dye in his hair, while also making sure that every last bit of dribbling jelly was gone. Simon Perdien's exquisite silk cloak served as a towel. Next was the clamp he'd placed inside his throat. Removing it was as unpleasant as inserting it had been, but from now on his voice would not be Simon Perdien's eternal wheeze, but his own deeper baritone. Replacing his outfit was the last and easiest step. The laundrywoman had arranged for the delivery of his usual outfit and equipment to this very bathroom, where it was hidden in a secret compartment under the rubble.

One last check in the mirror, and he set off again. With the combination of a second set of directions complemented with those in the letter he'd received at the banquet hall, he reached the meeting point without meeting anyone else on the way. Semir knocked on the door before entering.

"Good evening. I was supposed to come here?" He said as he opened the door. He was mildly surprised to find the Emperor sitting in the same room, among with a host of other people. Some he'd already expected, others he hadn't. He gave a simple and unrefined bow to Martin. There was no obligation for that act, since he wasn't officially on the man's payroll. But even as a simple mercenary, he would have to give his 'client' some respect. A mercenary without respect for those who paid him was a mercenary without work. Especially if the payer was as important as the Emperor himself.

He also nodded to everyone else in turn before leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The jester received an inquisitive eyebrow since he looked horribly out of place and completely ignoring that wouldn't do.
"Name's Grey by the way. From Daggerfall. If you can't remember, just look at my hair. Simple enough."


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Fabulous hairneedle attack! I'm gonna be bald before I hit twenty.
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Uleni Athram
post Oct 13 2011, 12:38 PM
Post #18


Master
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Joined: 19-September 11
From: From: From: From



The secret chamber, known only by three men, now became cramped and the heat signature from each of the mercs that filed in radiated in uncomfortable waves. Legatus Horatius sweated in his armor, using a kerchief to soak the substance off. Emperor Martin Septim did not show any expressions alluring to discomfort or what not. The Smiler didn't care. Two people had his/her eye's attention, and that was the nord named Kelzar and a breton, naimg himsef 'Grey'. The Nord had a look of recognition of some kind in seeing him/her, and the Smiler thought of it as strange. The Breton, on the other hand, matches the face of the noble he/she splashed with jelly.

All of this was strange for him/her, to be honest.

The sculptured entity that was Martin stood from his seat and took an observation from each and every one of them, He gave Semir Grey an odd look; from the personal diaries of his late father, he mentioned some Blade agents sent to High Rock to solve some matter that turned out to be a bidding race to one of the most powerful artifacts in known Tamriel. One of the logs mentioned a sharpwitted man by the name of Semir Grey.

For a minute, Martin closed his eyes and touched where the Amulet should've been. He gave thanks to his father for bringing him atleast one trustworthy man. The others didn't seem like the traitor kind, but in this age one can never be sure. With a deep breath, he opened his mouth and let it all come out.


"I will not tell you how grave the situation Tamriel faces. I will not tell you how men walked the lesser path, and damned everyone near them. I will not tell you how I am saddened with all that has happened. I will not tell you, because you already know.

In your eyes, I see a familiar disease. A virus that mortals should never have eating away at their hearts. In your eyes, I see sorrow and loss. Bitterness. Some of you have suffered through other evils, but," here he looked intensely at a young Bosmeri, "I can see that some of you have suffered because of this chaos."

He took a deep breath. The Legatus watched him with some amusement, knowing that the young Septim was not the one with words.

"I ask you, then. Would you let others share the same faith? Let them taste unspeakable agony and ravenous desperation? Let children weep at the bodies of their lifegivers, before being dragged away? Let mothers bear witness to the sight of their dead children? Let fathers watch helpless as their families hang from gibbets? As your Emperor, I command you to heal this rift that separates us from peace."

And then, his serious demeanor became calmed by inner will. No longer was the Emperor who would send men to their deaths; no, here, before the mercenaries, was the reluctant priest who witnessed the fall of Kvatch.

Here, before all of them, was a broken man.

"But as your fellow man, I plead for you to help restore Tamriel to her beauty."


Martin was silent when he sat down, eyes staring blindly ahead and a knuckle on his chin. Some tears flowed down, but he did make any notion to wipe them off. The Legatus took this as the oppurtune moment to turn this melodrama into something serious and business-like.

"Alright," his Colovian voice was rough, probably from screaming orders. He produced a map from somewhere in his silver armor, looked at the still catatonic Martin, gave a shrug and laid it upon the desk. He stood awkwardly beside Martin, and beckoned all of the mercenaries to form a circle around him and the task.

The Smiler opted to hang upside down from the chandolier, eliciting an annoyed sigh from the Legate.

"Here is how it goes. You lot were chosen ones, praise be to the rubbery behind of Talos and all those nonsensical hoopla nosensical priests say in situations like these. So!" He pointed at Morrowind, specifically Mournhold the City of Lights.

"Morrowind'll be the first domino to fall. You know why? The Four-Score War we had with them should answer that question, but if that's not enough, then see here."

A metal-encased finger hovering above the legend of Black Marsh.

"Some of our spies in this dump of a land says that an artifact of immense power has declared its siren's call and the damned elves had been rallying all of their forces JUST to get a taste of it. Killing everyone and everything in their way. Stupid sons of guars reportedly razed an Argonian town 'because it stopped their movement speed'. War erupted, if you lot are too stupid to realize that simple matter.

Here's the part where you come in.

You are tasked with recovering this artifact before the Argonians and Dunmeri does. In the Waterfront, there's this uncompromising galley that will send you to Mournhold. You are to meet our spy there and take his reports.

Since dunmeri are lovers of their own kind, AND ONLY THEIR KIND you would need to cover up that ugly face of yours. We .. recovered some Ordinator gear from some willing veterans that retired. For the women and the lizards, we got some thick robes that should hide your feminine wiles from those sex-deprived, desperate lunatics.

Once you meet our spy and soak up knowledge from his reports, go from there. Take heed, however, that you will be on your own. Apart from the occasional spy that you 'might' meet, the Empire's influence cannot be thrust into the spotlight."

He cleared his throat.

"You have questions? If not, get out of my sight," he said, his glare urging-no, DEMANDING them to get on with their new task. The sooner, the better. And it would be a good chance to rid the Royal Palace of its mercenary infestation.
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NEXT ONE TO POST: SAQIN. (Post this after the main RP post so the next guy after you will know its his turn!)

This post has been edited by Uleni Athram: Oct 13 2011, 02:42 PM


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grif11
post Oct 13 2011, 02:14 PM
Post #19


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OOC: Er, you mean saqin, right?


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Uleni Athram
post Oct 13 2011, 02:41 PM
Post #20


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OOC: Wait... OH DAMN! MY MISTAKE! WOW, EVEN THE CREATOR OF THE LINE IS NOT IMPERVIOUS TO THE CONFUSION IT PRESENTS! WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?! .. I'm just stupid, is all. Uh huhahahaha.

Go ahead, Sa'qin.


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